


roads that lead you home

by lescousinsdangereux



Category: RWBY
Genre: A Whole LOT of Found Family, Canon Compliant, F/F, Family Dinners, Found Family, Gen, Gratuitous sister feelings because I know my intended audience, Minor Penny Polendina/Ruby Rose, Minor Winter Schnee/Robyn Hill, Weiss POV, for now (and somewhat loosely), outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lescousinsdangereux/pseuds/lescousinsdangereux
Summary: Snapshots of Weiss Schnee (age seventeen to twenty-nine) and her evolving definition of family, as shown through the meals she shares with the people she loves.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 82
Kudos: 361





	roads that lead you home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexonastick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/gifts).



> For P5, who loves Weiss as much as I do. Hope this doesn't disappoint, my friend (and I'm sorry for the inevitable typos my procrastination has caused). Happy Secret Santa! 
> 
> For more Weiss feelings, here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/40J4nw14BNsgeQr1r8GZFX?si=u1pdIk2RRUarAPBCYB-aFg)!

_I was young and naive  
_ _As I was told, so I believed  
_ _And I was told there's only one road that leads you home  
_ _And the truth was a cave on the mountainside  
_ _And I'd seek it out until the day I died  
_ _I was bound and determined  
_ _To be the child that you wanted  
  
_

_—_

_**\- 1 -  
** (Atlas, 17)_

_—_

The cut had healed quickly, as soon as her aura had returned — an hour later, curled up in the corner of her bedroom — but it itches now. She knows there’s no evidence of the irritation, no redness to give it away; Klein had said as much when he’d brought her a steaming mug of hot chocolate later that night. His actions had felt nearly furtive when he’d sat it down beside her, when he’d brushed his fingers along the crown of her head with a touch so light she’d barely felt it. She’d nearly asked him to stay — nearly burst into tears — but she’d ignored the impulse, much as she does now, hands folded tightly in her lap to keep her hands from straying upwards to scratch the pale line cutting down through her eye.

“It’s dreadful, just dreadful. You give an inch and they take a mile, isn’t that what I’ve always said? I _told_ the Council we would need to be firm in the face of these _outrageous_ demands, but they thought we ought to be _lenient_ with the Faunus and here we are: an entire train of Dust gone and a missing Board member to boot. What do you say about _that_ , James? How am I meant to react to _that_?”

Weiss glances away from her soup for only a moment — spoon swirling through the colorless liquid without any particular pattern or goal in mind — but it’s hardly difficult to tell who’s speaking; her father’s voice carries, and Weiss had learned early on to identify it (and the mood contained within) from all the way across the manor, let alone right beside him at the table’s _seat of honor_.

“I believe this invitation came with the promise of a ban on talk of business or politics,” Ironwood returns calmly, small smile causing the slightest wrinkle in his clean-shaven cheeks. “And I haven’t heard much from the Schnee we’re meant to be celebrating today.”

She has to fight back a smile of her own; there aren’t many people who would speak to her father in such a manner, and fewer still who seemed to enjoy it quite as much as General Ironwood. She looks up from her bowl again — an action that a nearby servant takes as a signal to remove it entirely, untouched as it is — to catalogue her father’s response to the near-rebuke. There’s little there, but Weiss has had 17 years to learn of the danger that often follows his brow twitching downwards — just as it does now — and she looks back down quickly, only to find a salad has been placed before her in the midst of her brief lapse of attention.

“Yes, well. Weiss is tremendously pleased to be attending Beacon, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It’s a prompt for a specific answer, though — at least in this case — it can be an honest one.

“Of course,” she returns, without hesitation. “It’s an honor to represent the Schnee name in one of the other kingdoms.”

Jacques nods — dismissing her from further conversation — and presses his lips into a razor thin smile, which he directs at Ironwood. “I thought it would be best if Weiss were able to form some strategic relationships outside of Atlas. After all, once she finishes with her schooling, she will be returning here to take her place within the Company. She’ll be equipped with the tactics required to navigate some of our trickier security detailing, as well as the connections needed to take the Schnee Dust Company even further into Vale.”

No mention of the months of icy arguments, the curling displeasure of his mouth every time they spoke of it, the endless disapproval, let alone the fallout at the end. Now it’s a strategic decision and — of course — it’s his to make. Still, she maintains her silence. She can see her own victory, even if it’s veiled from others. (In this particular instance, at least.)

“A wise decision,” Ironwood returns evenly, and maybe Weiss is imagining the almost mocking lit to his tone, but she enjoys it regardless. “We will miss the opportunity to host a Schnee at Atlas Academy again, but I’m sure you will perform admirably at Beacon, Miss Schnee.”

His surprising warmth makes Weiss second-guess herself and her decision (again, not for the first or last time), but only for a moment. Ironwood had always seemed well-meaning and her sister had done well at his academy, but — though she’d never been able to explain it fully, not even to herself — she needs something different (something more). Still, it’s hardly disagreeable to be so applauded by the de facto head of the Kingdom of Atlas. Before she can express her appreciation for the sentiment, Ironwood’s expression slides into something far less genial, and — in the seat next to him — Winter shifts her positioning almost imperceptibly. Weiss notices, of course, because it brings the full weight of her sister’s stare on her, and it’s the first time Weiss has managed to catch her attention throughout the whole of the dinner. Winter — wearing her full Specialist attire and accompanying attitude — had said very little to anyone thus far, other than the required greetings.

“After all,” Ironwood continues, voice lower and sharper. “Without you, the recent incident with that Arma Gigas could have been catastrophic. The amalgamation of Grimm within one form multiples their strength in ways we’ve hardly been able to test thoroughly, and if it had been released on the general public, I can only imagine the damage it may have caused. It seems you did both the Schnee Dust Company and Atlas as a whole a great service.” He pauses. “Not that many will be told enough to realize you are deserving of the praise.”

Weiss can’t hide her surprise and her father can’t (or perhaps simply _doesn’t_ ) hide his anger. She looks down when a flash of it lights on her, his glance sharp and aimed in her direction, but it abates quickly; he moves the full force of it onto Ironwood, though it has no discernible effect on the general.

“Yes, well. No need to alarm the public.” He folds one hand over the other and gestures blindly behind him; his plate is whisked away, though Weiss had not noticed him eat more than a few cautious bites. “I am curious to how _you_ found out, James. I’m unclear why the military needs to inform itself on the inner practices of a privately-held company.”

“When that privately-held company has military contracts and potentially endangers the citizens the military was created to protect, I think it’s clear why the military might keep itself informed.” Lifting his glass, Ironwood takes a sip that’s meant to be casual. “Word always makes its way to me, Jacques. Surely you realize that after all these years.”

At the barb, Weiss holds back a sigh, sinking further into her seat as she imagines the ire growing steadily within her father. And — worse — the inevitable release someone would be unlucky enough to bear after all the guests had left the manor.

(Four days and sixteen hours until she leaves for Beacon; if she cared to concentrate, she could list the minutes and seconds left in the countdown as well.)

“Does this mean I’m _permitted_ to discuss politics again, James? Or can you bend _those_ rules as well, whenever you please?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to debate another time.” With a careful wipe of his lips that leaves the white napkin unblemished, Ironwood nods to Winter, and the two stand as one. “Apologies, Miss Schnee, but it’s a busy time for me with classes starting so soon.”

“Of course.” Weiss nods and attempts to keep her disappointment from showing as her gaze flickers over towards Winter.

She’s likely not entirely successful, especially when it’s her sister that speaks next, tone giving nothing away, but words revealing more than enough.

“Perhaps you can escort us out, so we might say our goodbyes.”

“Even though _you_ see fit to leave in the middle of it, Weiss has a dinner to attend to,” Jacques returns, smile tight and disapproving. “Klein can see you out, if you’ve somehow forgotten the way.”

“It will only take a moment, father.” Weiss stands as well. It’s a poor decision most likely, and one she will face the consequence of later (consequences that would largely depend on Jacques’ mood). But it’s unlikely she would see Winter again before departing for Beacon, and she thinks — as Winter nods in approval at her — some things are worth such risks.

She doesn’t wait to view her father’s expression; she can picture it well — the slight pinch in his brow, the brief narrowing of his eyes, the upward curl of his lip that denotes anything but humor — and sees little need to waste any time taking it in.

“Until next time, Jacques,” Ironwood calls over his shoulder, and Winter nods once before spinning and matching his strides, both of them fast enough that Weiss has to quicken her pace — two steps to each of their one — in order to catch up. Once she does, there’s nothing to hear; if Winter and Ironwood have thoughts about the evening, they certainly won’t be sharing them in the halls of Schnee Manor.

It’s fairly uncomfortable, and Weiss searches for something to say, thoughts tangling up in each other until they’re knotted in place. She’s left wringing her hands instead, trailing behind the two with her head down — until she nearly collides with Winter’s back, the stop feeling abrupt only due to Weiss’s lack of attention. It’s a slip that Winter clearly catches, if her look is any indication: the tinge of detached disappointment that Weiss has come to view as her sister’s default expression when dealing with a majority of people (but notices most when it’s directed at her).

“Thank you again for your hospitality, Miss Schnee.” Ironwood says, his nod brief, but powerful enough to make Weiss’s chest lift. “No need to escort us any further. Our airship is just outside.”

It feels sudden, even though — just like her halt in motion seconds ago — it shouldn’t, not if Weiss had been paying any mind. Still, her gaze darts to Winter, almost in a panic. This is a goodbye she’s not ready for. Not ready for at all, not least because she’s forgotten —

“Oh! Winter, I forgot to — ” She glances around wildly, her distress picking up, her internal beratement spiraling upwards. How could she have been so _stupid_ as to —

“Miss Schnee?”

The voice halts her alarm — not with cold dread, but a reassuring warmth that’s always felt out of place within the sterile walls of Schnee manor. (Out of place, but welcome.)

“Pardon the interruption,” Klein continues, eyes placid and brown. “But Miss Schnee instructed me to bring this.”

He hands the small container over with an all-but-hidden smile — directed only at Weiss — before nodding towards the other two as a means of quietly excusing himself. Weiss barely manages to open her mouth to thank him before he vanishes around a corner. She feels a pang of regret at the slight, but only for a moment, her attention shifted elsewhere once again almost immediately.

“Weiss?” Winter lifts a brow. “We really must be going.”

“I — ” She looks down at the plastic container in her hand and then back up, eyes darting over to Ironwood and back to Winter. She’s caught again, words trapped against a barrier of her own self-doubt.

Thankfully, the general knows his niceties, even if he so often chooses not to use them.

“I’ll give you both a moment,” he says, and — when Winter appears ready to protest — smiles. “We’re ahead of schedule.”

It might be a kind lie, but Weiss isn’t in any hurry to question it, even when Winter’s expression is one of slight impatience as she watches Ironwood depart.

“I — this won’t take long,” she says, words tumbling out in a hurry now that they’ve been given leave. “I just — I made these for you.”

She thrusts the box at Winter, who lifts both her eyebrows in a lightly contemptuous sort of surprise. But the look softens as soon as Winter takes off the lid and spots the lightly browned cookies inside, the crushed candies in the center of each reflecting a gentle red light onto her face.

“Klein helped,” Weiss adds hurriedly. “I just thought — remember when we used to make them when we were younger? I was thinking about that and before I left I wanted to… remind you.”

Remind her of the brief, gentle moments that they’d carved out of stone. Bits of affection they’d managed to plant and watch sprout: determined and resilient and tough enough to withstand the harsh soil. The result didn’t always look like something made out of love, but Weiss had always known better, and she sees it now too, watching Winter’s shoulders drop, some of her severity slipping away.

“Thank you, Weiss.” There’s still formality there — there always is — but she pairs it with a smile softer than anyone other than Weiss has likely witnessed. And her touch — when she reaches out to brush her gloved fingertips over the top of Weiss’s new scar — is light and warm.

But the tenderness is gone in a flash — another _always_ — and Winter’s spine straightens as she drops her hand, grasping it behind her back with the other.

“You have taken your first step away from father. I remember exactly how he reacted when I did the same. And accidents are not uncommon when father is displeased. Next time, make sure you are strong enough to avoid the scar.”

Weiss swallows. “Next time? You think — That seems a bit _paranoid_. For an… accident.”

“Not at all.” Winter’s chin lifts. “Train hard at Beacon, Weiss. Father will want you to make alliances. And _you_ will be tempted to form genial bonds with your fellow classmates. That is all well and fine, but remember what you are _there_ for. You are there to learn. You are there to grow strong. And in the end, you can only rely on yourself.” She nods, pleased with the delivery of her message. “Don’t forget that, Weiss.”

“I — ” Weiss bites her lip, holding back the things she wishes she could say to argue against the notion (the things she wishes were true). “I understand, Winter. I won’t let you down.”

Winter shakes head, and her smile is biting. “Perhaps. But until you realize that letting _me_ down should not be your main concern, you most likely will.”

Swirls of snow curl into the room as Winter leaves, sneaking past the metallic door of the mansion. Weiss stares out the window, watching the Atlesian airship vanish into the dark until there are only small puddles left on the floor.

The mansion is cold; it takes some time.

—  
  
 _Life's too short to stay  
Where you feel dismay  
But give your best to try  
Don't look back, know you were right  
Some mistakes I will make  
But that's how I take shape  
I’d rather be me  
I wanna be me  
_  
—

 _**\- 2 -**  
_ _(Mantle, 19)_

_—_

“Alright, Ruby couldn’t find any Soul Lilies, but she did find some nice blooms of Maiden’s Breath. She’ll be here soon. I know it’s not what we planned and I’m not happy either because Blake told us that Soul Lilies were her mom’s favorite but — ”

“But Soul Lilies have a similar scent profile and color scheme. Of course. We ought to swap out the candles for a taller model, though. Since the lilies have more volume, I’m afraid they may drown out the current selection.”

“Right. Definitely. You’re so right. I’ll call in a favor with Ivy — she works at the general store on 5th — she can probably make something happen. In…” Yang trails off, eyes jerking up away from her scroll, distress clear. “Okay. In fifteen minutes. Shit. They’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Nevermind. We have to — we gotta — Weiss, what do we _do_?”

“If Ruby weren’t running so _late_ we’d be able to at least _trim_ them for a more ideal shape. Honestly, is this her _last_ priority? Doesn’t she know what’s at _stake_?”

“She could have met with Ironwood on _another_ time!” Yang agrees. “Things are _mostly_ settled down now. I don’t think there’s been any property damage _all_ day.”

“Exactly!”

They make something of an odd pair, Weiss knows, and that’s always been the case. Even at Beacon — eons ago when planning a dance was their top priority — they’d gotten more than a few curious looks when the two of them had volunteered to take over organizing the ball after CFVY’s mission had run long. But despite their differences in decoration choices, personalities, and fighting styles, there was one thing she and Yang had always had in common: when they cared about something, they gave it _everything_.

Even if right now, Weiss can admit that perhaps they both care a _bit_ too much.

Because Yang’s lips have curled into a rare frown — one not born of anger or disappointment, but something bordering panic — and Weiss feels her brow pinch as she considers the woman before her: typically so self-assured, but now rubbing her hands together as she frets over the status on their dining table centerpiece... In a small room with windows boarded up to protect the glass from the near-constant riots and Grimm that had plagued the lower city lately. Perhaps they could both use a little perspective, just this once.

“But… well,” Weiss continues, forcing herself to sound calm, “Even though we promised to take care of everything tonight since Blake and Ruby have so much on their plate dealing with the various players in Mantle, I don’t know that the type of _candle_ we have at the table will make or break this dinner party.”

“Yeah, but we told Blake we’d make it _perfect_. Well. I mean, _I_ told her that. Her parents are traveling a long way and they’re already worried about Blake and the state of things and we need their help with this whole counter-revolution thing or what _ever_ we’re calling the whole Atlas and Mantle restructuring, because we’re _leaving_ and Blake has really been the only one holding things together up until now and they’re the only ones she trusts to help with the _new_ White Fang stuff and _also_ I’ve never even _met_ them, so I sort of wanted to make a good first impression because — ” Yang blinks several times — apparently _finally_ taking in Weiss’s wide eyes and dropped jaw — and clears her throat. “Um. I just — I want to make this a good visit. For them. For Blake’s sake.”

The realization hits Weiss suddenly, and she feels absolutely moronic that it’s taken her this long to reach it.

“Wait. You’re nervous. Why are you _nervous_?”

“What do you — of course I’m nervous! It makes sense for me to be nervous! I’m meeting Blake’s _parents_! ” Yang blurts, arms flailing at her sides wildly, sleeves of her jacket falling down over her gauntlets. “Which is _way_ more than you can say! Why are _you_ nervous? You don’t get to be nervous!”

Weiss sputters. “I don’t get to — I’m a Schnee! Blake’s father headed the _White Fang_!”

“Yeah, well, I — I’m in love with her, okay? And her dad is like _seven feet tall_!”

“Oh, you’re _in love with her.”_ And sure, Weiss isn’t exactly _proud_ about how mocking she sounds, but Yang treating this like some _big reveal_ is a bit more than she can manage at this particular point in time. “Big deal, Yang! You’ve been in love with her for two years! This isn’t news!”

“It’s —” Yang crosses her arms and comes _very_ near to pouting. “It’s news! I haven’t said that out loud before. So maybe you and Ruby should let up with the whole it’s-so-obvious-you-and-Blake-are-in-love thing. It’s… hurtful.”

“Yang,” Weiss sighs, long-suffering in a way that feels _completely_ justified. “It’s _so_ obvious that you and Blake are in love.”

“But we haven’t even kissed yet!”

That, at least, is a surprise. “What? Why _not_? We thought you were just waiting to tell us it was _official_ because of everything going on.” She pauses, takes a moment to consider. “Actually, Maria has a _minor_ bet going with — ”

“ _Maria_?”

“ — With Nora and Jaune and Ren and Marrow and Elm and Winter and... ” She trails off. “Well, you get the idea.”

“ _Winter_ is betting on — ” Yang’s mouth gapes. “Weiss!”

“ _I_ didn’t start the betting pool.” She pauses, shifting to her opposite foot. “Though if you could hurry it along, that would be _wonderful_. I chose this month and since there’s only a week left…”

“ _Weiss_!”

“Okay. Okay!” She tosses her braid back, shaking herself into a more sympathetic expression, though her small smile betrays her lingering amusement. “I’m done. Please continue.”

“Oh. Er. Well.” With an open invitation to speak without interruption, Yang apparently finds herself without the words to do so, rubbing the back of her head instead. “We haven’t been on a date, or anything.”

Weiss immediately loses her resolve, letting out a soft — but clearly audible — laugh. “I’m sorry!” she adds, when Yang glares. “It’s just, that’s _ridiculous_! You went on dates _all_ the time at Beacon. Honestly, you two went out so often that when Sun asked Blake to the dance, Ruby and I each got asked _dozens_ of times how our team was _recovering_ from the _incident_.”

“Wait. What?” Yang shakes her head. “No, you know what? Nevermind. That was _different_.”

“And the dates you’ve gone on while we’ve been in Atlas?” Weiss’s brow lifts. “Those were…?”

“Also different! The last one ended in a _call for revolution_ , Weiss!”

“Which sounds like an ideal date to take Blake on, to be perfectly honest.”

Yang breathes out in exasperation, head tilting back as though she thinks she’ll find patience on the ceiling. It’s enough for Weiss to feel a bit bad about her role in this particular showcase of friendship, and she steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Yang’s shoulder.

“All I mean is that — Yang, everyone knows how much you two care for each other. And it has to be obvious to the both of you as well. What are you afraid of?”

“I just… want it to be perfect. I want to make everything perfect for her.” The earnestness sits on Yang much like the slight pinkening of her cheeks: a little out of place, but endearing. Weiss feels her own smile grow in response, affection for her teammates swelling in her chest.

“Like this _meal_ ,” Yang continues, expression sliding into determination as she turns to stare at Weiss, head on. “It has to be _perfect_. Blake deserves perfect. So we’re going to give it to her.”

Weiss considers this, lips pursing in thought as she runs a hand over the already-smooth tablecloth. “I think… Maybe it will be no matter what. It doesn’t have to be _perfect_ to be perfect.”

Letting out a soft snort, Yang leans forward to flick her finger against Weiss’s forehead. “Okay, princess, clearly you’ve taken too many hits to the head in training. I’m gonna have to hold back in sparring from here on out, because — ”

“No, you _dunce_. I mean it doesn’t have to be the sort of _perfect_ we’ve been planning. The — the glasses don’t have to match the plates and the wine and fish don’t have to be the ideal pairing. We don’t need _five_ courses and they don’t all have to blend perfectly into one another.” She inhales, loud enough to be heard. “I’ve _been_ to that dinner. I’ve been to a million of those _perfect_ dinners. But they never really were. Perfect, that is. Not in the way that mattered. I should have — I don’t know why I’ve been going along with this because I _know_ that’s not what makes a meal work..”

With each word, Yang’s face softens further, and by the time Weiss stops, there’s a tenderness there that makes her throat feel tight, enough to prevent her from finishing her thought. Thankfully, Yang gets the gist, and does it for her.

“Because it’s the _people_ that matter, not the things. Yeah, alright.” Yang rolls her eyes, but her smile is gentle. “Yeah, alright. I get your point. You’re not bad at this, you know. The supportive teammate bit. What happened to the girl who tried to get Professor Port to sign off on your coup to overthrow Ruby as our team leader?”

“That was — that was _so_ long ago!” She jerks her hand away with a pout, but Yang grabs it with a loud laugh and pulls her in close, tucking Weiss against her shoulder in a sideways hug. “How did you even find out about that?”

“I’ll _never_ reveal my sources.” Yang pauses, grin splitting wide. “But Blake was _totally_ creeping in the background during that entire conversation and heard _everything_. She was probably in a bush somewhere. Hiding in the shadows. Or maybe hanging from a lamp post. Who knows?”

“Or _maybe_ ,” counters a new voice, dripping with amusement. “I was standing right behind you — like now — and you just didn’t notice.”

Weiss jumps, but so does Yang, so she doesn’t feel _quite_ as bad. Still, it’s a little embarrassing, especially when — as Blake holds open the door to their impromptu dining room — the as-of-yet-unmet Belladonnas follow her inside.

“Blake!” Yang steps forward, and then back a half-step, eyes flickering over Blake’s shoulder before they’re drawn back to the woman in front of her, the force of attraction apparently impossible to resist, regardless of the situation. “Um. Hey.”

“Hi.”

Both of them seem to hold their breath. As though they hadn’t just seen each other a few hours ago. As though they didn’t see each other _all the time_. The familiar ridiculousness of the sheer amount of longing on display is enough to snap Weiss out of her own nervousness and firmly into hostess mode. It’s a role she’d always abhorred, but now finds she takes some pleasure in, especially when she gets to nudge Yang none-too-gently on her way over to offer her greetings.

“Mr. and Mrs. Belladonna! We’re so pleased you made it in safely. Please, come inside. Let me take your coats.”

She’s surprised when this gets a laugh, though it’s without any of the mocking she might otherwise expect; Kali Belladonna’s smile is kind and her eyes — so similar to Blake’s — sparkle with genuine fondness that feels, to Weiss, wholly unearned.

“You must be Weiss.”

Weiss thinks of the first day she can remember venturing out into the city of Atlas — Klein at her side — of the straightening posture of the sales clerks when they caught sight of her white hair; of her first day at Beacon and the reactions of Jaune, Cardin, Blake; of the Vital Festival and Flynt’s hard eyes; she thinks of being back in Mantle, the wild surprise of a random drunkard.

And Weiss thinks about how this is the first time someone has recognized her without the _Schnee_ attached to her name, and with something that sounds almost like genuine warmth in their tone, and her whole world shrinks and then expands, bigger than before.

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmurs, struggling to keep the emotions that come with these realizations out of her tone. “I am.”

It’s a fragile moment, the smooth surface of a lake that might be disturbed by the softest of breezes.

Which is why something much stronger — namely, a burst of rose petals followed immediately by loud screeching noise and noisy clatter — shatters it completely.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Ruby gasps, only remaining upright due toYang and Blake both stepping forward to prop her up between them. “I know I’m late and that this is important, but when I was out getting the flowers there was a girl who’d slipped and twisted her ankle and so I helped her get back to Mantle and then it turned out that her mom was _Joanna_ and I didn’t even know Joanna _had_ a kid? So I couldn’t just _leave_ because _diplomacy_ and anyways here are some flowers for you, Mrs. Belladonna! It’s so nice to meet you!”

She steps forward and thrusts the flowers out with a wide grin, and Weiss holds back a sigh at the sight of them; barely any petals remaining, crushed at the stem, and not at _all_ the type Ruby had said she would bring back. But Blake’s mom appears to be nothing if not charmed, and takes them with care and a quiet smile.

“And _you_ must be Ruby.” Kali glances beyond the nodding girl, where Blake and Yang have (as usual) drifted back together, filling in the space that Ruby vacated as she stepped forward. “And Yang. Of course. I’ve heard an awful lot about _you_.”

Predictably, Blake blushes.

“ _Mom_.”

“Oh,” Weiss begins in a drawl. “Has Blake talked about Yang more than anyone or anything else in the letters she sends home? What a surprise. An absolute shock.”

The booming laugh that bursts from Ghira’s lips makes all the non-Belladonnas jump, and when Weiss puts a hand to her heart to settle herself, she swears she can feel the lingering reverberation therein. But Kali’s lighter, softer laugh soon follows, and then Ruby’s high cackle, and it’s hard not to follow suit, especially when both Blake and Yang look so mortified.

“It’s _true_!” Ghira says, laughter continuing. “We can always tell when things are more settled on your journeys, because suddenly there’s nothing about retooling the city’s political infrastructure and we get pages and pages of in-depth analysis about a single smil — ”

“ _Dad!_ ”

Blake’s blush reaches a color that Weiss is pretty sure the finest dye-makers in Atlas would find difficult to replicate, but Yang’s expression slides into a dopey smile that’s so cheesy, it overshadows any amusement to be had from the situation. The wink that follows — sent in Blake’s direction — pushes it all over the edge, leaving Weiss with nothing else to do except roll her eyes in an all-too-familiar manner. (If the old adage about the action causing permanent damage holds any truth, she’s sending Blake and Yang the bill.)

“I’m sure we’ll learn much more about the state of things in Atlas while we’re here, dear. Seeing as that’s _why_ we’re here,” Kali says soothingly, but then her smile shifts into something far more mischievous. “In _addition_ to how enchanted our daughter is by Yang’s smile.”

“ _Enchanted_ , huh?” Yang whispers loudly, and the noise Blake makes in reply sounds enough like a wounded Boarbatusk that Ruby’s hand jerks towards the scythe at her back, before understanding hits and she sheepishly withdraws it.

“Perhaps we should sit?” As loathe as she is to interrupt the well-deserved callouts, and despite her earlier revelations, there’s no point in letting the food get cold. Also if Yang keeps going on, she might very well combust. There’s only so much a woman can take. “Dinner is ready, after all.”

“That sounds wonderful. We’ve had a long journey.” It’s only then that Kali takes off her coat and hands it to Weiss, patting her arm gently in the midst of the handoff. “Thank you, Weiss.”

“Not a problem at all.” She feels heat on her cheeks, but tries to ignore it. “Yang will show you to your seats.”

Because of course there’s a seating chart.

It seems silly now, perhaps, but at the time, it had been meant as a kindness; everything arranged to maximize the comfort of their guests. Such as: Ghira between Blake and Kali, Yang next to Blake and across from Ruby, and Weiss herself, placed as far away from the Belladonnas as she could manage at the small, round table. This — it turns out — had been an unnecessary precaution, mainly because Ghira drops into the seat next to Yang’s (Blake’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline and Yang visibly swallows) and from there everyone sits wherever they please. Including Kali, who slides in next to Weiss with a little gasp of delight when she spots the veritable feast laid out on the table before them.

“Salmon and noodles and shrimp skewers! Isn’t _this_ a treat! I never thought Atlas would be so welcoming,” Kali says with a wide smile, one that makes her look a little less like Blake, given the ease with which it appears in front of virtual strangers. “I can almost forgive all the snow.”

“Hibiscus tea, too” Ghira adds. “For that, _I_ can nearly forgive the history of discrimination as well.”

His tone is teasing, somehow, but Weiss still looks down, fingers curling together under the table.

“Ghira, _please_.”

“I was lightening the mood!”

“Not very well,” Blake groans.

But Weiss shakes her head, eyes still on her plate. “It’s not as though it isn’t a fair point.”

“Yes, but none of that had nothing to do with any of the people _here_.” Blake’s tone is so fierce that Weiss has to look up, drawn in by protectiveness she hears. It’s almost familiar at this point, after extended amounts of time spent in certain parts of Mantle where Weiss can hardly be counted as favorite. Not that Blake hadn’t gotten worse in other areas, and far more systematically. It seems unfair to have the defense oriented towards Weiss now, undeserved.

“You won’t hear argument from us, sweetie.” Kali slips a hand around Weiss’s shoulder wordlessly, and Weiss tries not to tense. She tries not to lean too much into it either. (The second one ends of being much harder.)

“Seems to me that the four of you have done more for the people in this city than those who had far more power and opportunity,” Ghira rumbles, leaning forward, the weight of his forearms pitching the table towards him slightly. “That is no small feat, regardless of background.”

“We only did what we thought was right,” Ruby sighs. “And even then, sometimes it feels like we did more harm than good. Things are stable now, but only barely. We still haven’t gotten communications back online. And the winter maiden is — “ Her teeth snap together with the force of cutting off her own words. ( _Dying_ , is how she might have finished it. _Potentially compromised_ , is another. _Complicated_ works too.) “It just seems like whatever we do... things still go wrong.”

A silence settles over the room, and in the midst of it, Kali hums softly and begins to serve both Weiss and Ruby (heedless of Weiss’s immediate, stuttering protest).

“I suppose that’s true,” she says calmly, sliding a filet onto Weiss’s plate with care. “No matter what you do, things will always go wrong. Because sometimes, things will simply go wrong, regardless of whether you involve yourselves at all. That’s the way of things. But don’t you think that, _maybe_ , things would have gone far _worse_ if you hadn’t been here?” Potatoes and spinach finds its way onto Weiss’s plate next, with another smile. “Certainly, things are still tenuous, but do you think that you think that _any_ common ground would have been found without all of you coming together and finding compromises for all parties involved? Your experiences have given you unique perspectives, and the success of your team — _because_ of your differing backgrounds and points of view — is an inspiration to those around you.”

“A sign,” Ghira continues with a nod at his wife. “That different nations — Vale, Atlas, Menagerie — can come together. And that Faunus and humans can form the strongest of bonds amongst each other. Even when that Faunus was a member of the White Fang, and that human was raised a Schnee.”

Her eyes lift to find Blake’s, which are soft from her smile (small, but full of history and the affection that’s come as a result).

“I… didn’t make that easy.” It’s an admission that still bothers her, though the discomfort is lessened when Kali’s hand fits over hers in a light pat.

“It’s never easy, honey. But you did it anyways.” Her eyebrows lift in sympathy. “And continue to do. Even when it’s beyond what anyone should expect a person to do.”

Each plate at the table is now full — meats and grains and vegetables — but not a single fork has been lifted from the tablecloth, not even the one right alongside Ruby, who — along with the rest of the members of their party — is watching Weiss with an expression that would be overbearing in its sympathy, had it been coming from anyone who understood Weiss a little less.

“Like Ruby said,” she begins slowly. “We do what we think is right. What it’s our _duty_ to do.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t feel sad about having to put your own father in prison.”

Yang’s words are blunt, but not unkind, and she pushes Blake’s chair (and Blake) further in towards Weiss with the force of her own lean in Weiss’s direction. They haven’t talked about it — not really — because they haven’t had _time_ to talk about it. It seemed silly to waste even the breath it would take to form words to discuss Jacques Schnee’s imprisonment, when it was exactly where he belonged. Weiss hadn’t wasted thought on it either, not to be sad or angry or upset. Which, most likely, is the root of Yang’s concern (and — looking around the table — Ruby’s and Blake’s as well).

“I’m… fine.” She gets three looks of various levels of obvious disbelief, and tries again. “We can talk later. For now, let’s eat. Please.”

It takes one last nod from Weiss to get Ruby to dig in, and the rest follow suit with only token hesitation. Only Kali waits, leaning in towards Weiss and giving her hand another gentle squeeze.

“Family is complicated, honey. But it’s also made up of whoever you choose.” She releases Weiss, picks up her fork, and offers a smile that holds a familiarity and trust that it probably shouldn’t. “It seems to me that you’ve made only the very best choice, once you unlearned the bad ones.”

On that, at least, Weiss cannot disagree.

Some time around halfway through the meal, Ghira and Yang start an arm wrestling contest that leaves a crack down the side of the table. At one point, Ruby attempts to demonstrate the swiveling capabilities of her upgraded scythe and cuts clean through a curtain. And when Kali asks Blake — a little too loud — if she and Yang have found some _alone time_ since she last wrote, Blake blushes hard enough to heat up the entire room by several degrees.

But Kali keeps putting her arm around Weiss’s shoulder and Ghira talks with pride about how many times he’s heard people mention Team RWBY since they arrived and at one point Weiss laughs so hard at Yang’s impersonations of Ironwood that she nearly chokes on her glass of wine and it’s _perfect_.

In all the ways that matter.

—  
  
 _Are you feeling fearful, brother?  
Are you feeling fearful, sister?  
The only way to lose that fearful feeling  
Replace it with love that's healing  
Leave what's heavy   
What's heavy behind_  
  
—

_**\- 3 -** _   
_(Vacuo, 22)_

—

“He’s late.”

“He’s _always_ late.”

Ruby appears far more concerned about this than Yang, pacing outside of the (frankly) disgusting looking bar they’d agreed to meet Taiyang at, a few days before. Communications were open once more amongst all the nations, but security was ever a factor, pushing them to a point that some might consider paranoid. But they’d learned their lesson at Beacon and again (harder this time) in Atlas. It made Team RWBY — on a solo journey through the deserts of Vacuo — far more wary to rely on the new version of the CCT network than ever before.

But Weiss is _hot_ and Ruby is _pacing_ and Blake looks as though she’d rather be anywhere other than this dive in the middle of nowhere, about to meet her girlfriend’s father; and tensions are high enough that she’s considering damning all their protocol and calling Taiyang herself. Maybe Yang sees some of that in her face, because she pushes off from the stucco wall of the bar and gives Weiss’s bare shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Why don’t we all go in and wait for him there? No temp-regulation, probably, but at least we can get a cold drink and sit down. He’ll know to come in.”

“Maybe I should wait outside.” Ruby shifts her pack from one shoulder to the other, tugs on the red fabric wrapped around her mouth and nose to keep the sand out. “Just in case.”

“Rubes. Come on. Where else would he even go? We’ve been traveling hard for a while. Let’s take a load off for as long as we can.”

There’s a certain level of anxiety ever-present in Ruby’s eyes now. Weiss noticed it in Atlas and she notices it more now, out in the wild of the Vacuo desert. Dark circles have found a place under all of their eyes, and sleep doesn’t come easy for anyone, even among the three of them huddled in a partially buried tent at night (while the last kept watch). The trust between the four is unshakable — the only thing Weiss knows she can rely on without even the slightest sliver of doubt — but the rest of the world is cruel, and they’d learned to always be on their guard, for better or worse. Still, it’s that trust that has Ruby nod slowly — to offer her sister a small, reassuring smile — and gesture for the rest of the team to follow her inside with a barely noticeable lift of her hand.

(They have each other. And that’s enough to push through the worst of days.)

The bar is somehow worse than Weiss had imagined when viewing it from the outside, which — given the peeled paint, broken sign, and collection of trash on the premises — is an almost impressive feat. It’s surprisingly full for the middle of the day, mid-week, but the clientele is the typical Vacuo assortment: lawless, dirty, pungent, and severely unwelcoming. A man reaches for Yang’s blonde curls (still long, despite the rest of them giving in to shorter cuts in the face of the heat) within ten seconds of their entrance, and three seconds later, his wrist is severely sprained, if the volume of his scream is anything to go by. They’re given a wide berth after that — after Yang’s red eyes sweep over the rest of the crowd and Blake grips the hilt of Gambol Shroud hard enough to make her knuckles turn white — and they find a corner table with uncharacteristic ease.

It’s in sitting that some of the barriers drop: Blake takes Yang’s hand and whispers something gentle in her ear until the red fades completely into lilac, Ruby’s spine loses some of its tension as she tosses her pack underneath the table and slumps against the (suspiciously and patchily colored) wall, and Weiss… breathes. The air is stale and hot and makes her nose scrunch, but most eyes turn away from them after another few moments. And these days, there’s something almost comforting about the typical and expected level of opposition they meet in Vacuo. A glance at their weapons was usually enough to scare off the majority, and, if necessary, a calculated strike always manages to fend off the rest. By now, it’s a familiar song and dance, one that all four of them excel at.

“Orders?”

“Anything other than crevice worm.” Everyone recognizes the plead in Weiss’s voice, but they’re all kind enough to not mention it. “Or mole crab.”

“That’s what you said at the last place,” Blake cautions, though her gaze remains on Yang, eyes scanning the features of her face in the same way she scans her weapon when looking for nicks in the blade. “And remember what you ended up with.”

Weiss sighs, but nods. “No cave beetles either. Please.”

“Bat stew for me!” Ruby chirps, sounding far more optimistic than anyone should while uttering such words.

“Flatbread, if they have it. Breadfruit if not.” Blake leans in finally, and kisses Yang softly as her partner shifts to stand; Weiss should be used to the sheer volume of affection the two manage to squeeze into every touch, but she’s not, and she looks away (notices Ruby doing the same). “Thanks, babe.”

“Ale for everyone too?” Yang asks, but barely waits for confirmation before shouldering her way towards the bar. She takes care to not disappear from view, though, keeping to their side of the bar even when there’s more space opposite her. Blake fiddles with one of the knives she now wears at her belt as she watches her, toes of her right boot tracing shapes in the ever-present sand on the creaking wooden floor of the bar.

It’s almost amusing to watch Blake’s tension pick back up, brought about by such a silly, mundane thing as meeting a parent rather than constant threat of death, and Weiss feels a small smile form on her chapped lips.

“So,” Ruby begins, and her smile holds much of the same. “You’re meeting our dad. You’re meeting the _parent_.”

“Better than the _other_ parent,” Weiss chimes in. “Speaking from experience, that would _definitely_ be worse. Though, I suppose your experience would be better than mine; she most likely would _not_ imprison you and attempt to ransom you off.”

“Eh, with Raven it’s hard to be sure.”

Blake lets out an exasperated breath. “Isn’t this the part where you two try to take my mind _off_ of it?”

“Would you _rather_ talk about our endless and exhausting search for a needle in a haystack?” Weiss asks, eyebrow raising.

“If the needle is a dangerous artifact and the haystack is an _entire nation full of sand_ ,” Ruby groans, putting her head down on the table (not a particularly hygienic action) at even the thought. “Sure.”

“I was being _metaphorical_ and _also_ — ”

“No!” Blake cuts in with another sigh. “No, that’s not something I find to be a particularly fun distraction.”

“Oh, it has to be _fun_ ,” Weiss drawls, lips twitching. “Sorry, Blake. I seem to be fresh out of fun distractions.”

“I think I can help with that.” Yang’s back, balancing four glasses across her forearms, and even without the beer, she seems to be exactly the distraction Blake needs, who perks up almost impossibly when Yang leans down to brush a kiss atop her head, in the space between her ears. “Ale for everybody. No IDs necessary in Vacuo!”

“The only thing they have going for them,” Ruby mumbles, picking her head up just enough to pull her glass across the table towards her.

“I dunno,” Yang says casually, sitting down and slinging her arm around Blake’s (bare) shoulders. “I’ve really enjoyed desert fashion. On _one_ person in particular.”

“Stop that train of thought immediately,” Weiss says, at the same time as Ruby’s groaned, ‘ _please don’t’_.

Yang, of course, ignores both of them.

“Just saying, if there’s _one_ benefit to the temperature, it’s that I can do this — ” She leans down to kiss Blake’s skin, tanned from the sun, though the color at Blake’s cheeks shifts into something far more crimson at the action. “ — Whenever I want.”

“I would call that another severe downside, actually,” Weiss drawls, but feels her lips curl into a smile when Yang lifts her mouth from Blake’s shoulder and looks at her with love so obvious, it’s impossible to not appreciate, even from the outside looking in.

Blake shakes her head, expression mirroring her girlfriend’s as she brushes a soft kiss across her forehead. “Yang does make some points,” she murmurs.

“That’s right.” Yang nods, grin spreading. “I make a lot of points. You gonna remember that when my dad is here?”

It’s instantaneous, the way Blake tenses up again, but it’s gone just as quickly when Ruby laughs and Yang joins in a second later.

“Blake Belladonna, Slayer of Grimm, official Huntress, Savior of Mantle,” Ruby begins, tone teasing. “Afraid to meet Taiyang Xiao Long, who I once saw trip over Zwei, fall down two flights of stairs, and then nearly start crying because he thought he might have hurt ‘his wittle baby’.”

Yang’s laugh picks up, her head falling back. “Oh gosh, that _horrible_ baby voice he always does. Like when he counts Zwei’s ‘woesy toesys’.”

“Hey!” calls a new voice. “That voice is why Zwei likes _me_ best.”

“Dad!”

Ruby gets there first — because Ruby always gets there first — but Yang isn’t too far behind, wrapping her arms around both her father and sister and nearly lifting them from the floor. It’s a strange sight in the dingy bar, though Weiss would consider it a strange sight anywhere; it’s very clear that there’s nowhere else Taiyang would rather be than in the middle of the desert with the two people he loves more than anyone else in Remnant. There’s nothing furitive about his wide smile and loud laugh, nothing held back in his tight grip around both their shoulders. Even Blake — whose parents both hold the very same affection for her — looks almost puzzled by the sheer volume of the greeting, eyebrows pinching together, even as the corners of her lips lift. But then, they should have known, really — given Yang and Ruby’s propensity for loud, physical affection — that their father would share the same inclination.

When Taiyang finally pulls back, the similarities are even more obvious: his yellow hair matches Yang’s, but the open lift of his brow is all Ruby. And the grin he favors both Weiss and Blake with is one that Ruby and Yang have always shared.

“Finally!” he shouts, excitement clear. “I get to meet the rest of Team RWBY!”

“Dad.” Ruby takes a breath. “This is Blake and Weiss.”

“Blake is the gorgeous one with the _incredible_ amber eyes that can see straight into my soul and the _gorgeous_ dark hair that looks good no matter how she cuts it,” Yang slides in, smile growing with the same speed as Blake’s blush. “And Weiss is the… snowette.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

Yang shrugs. “Pretty sure that’s how you describe someone with white hair.”

“It most certainly is _not_.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Xiao Long,” Blake cuts in, shooting first Weiss and then Yang a quick look of warning. “I hope your journey from Atlas wasn’t quite as difficult as ours.”

“ _Tai_ , please.” He steps forward and offers Blake his hand first, and then Weiss. His handshake is firm, but warm, enveloping rather than tight. “And I didn’t run into any Blind Worms, if that’s what you mean.” He pauses, the first hint of a frown appearing. “Did Yang _really_ set charges from _inside_ of that thing?”

“Yes.”

Yang winces at Blake’s flat tone — a noticeable shift — but waves it off with a literal shake of her hand. “Hot tip from Coco Adel. It was a _strategic_ decision.”

“Uh _huh_.”

Blake and Tai say it as one, and then smile at each other, an easy bond found. Yang sees it too, because she groans and shakes her head.

“Okay, you two aren’t allowed to team up. Seriously. It’s not allowed.”

“Oh, not _allowed,_ huh?” Blake drawls.

“Uh oh.” Tai laughs and slaps Yang’s shoulder before sitting down at the table, stretching his legs out onto a vacant chair. “You started out so strong, sweetie, but now it’s come to this.”

“Uncle Qrow said you and Yang are really similar,” Ruby chirps, ruffling her father’s hair before sitting down herself. “I think he was talking about _this_ stuff in particular.”

“Okay. No way.” Yang shakes her head repeatedly. “We’re _definitely_ not going there. We’re gonna eat and we’ll talk about your trip and I will brag about my girlfriend a little, sure, but that's _it_.”

“Oh, are we listing impossible things?” Weiss rolls her eyes. “Because you managing to brag about Blake only a _little_ is about as likely as us getting our meal in any sort of timely manner in a place like this.”

Tai laughs again, rocking back in his chair fair enough to make the front legs lift off the floor. “Okay, I’m starting to see who keeps everyone in line on the team. That’s a hell of a job, Weiss. Don’t know how you’ve managed it this long with my girls. They’re _trouble_.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Ruby scoffs. “Weiss is more trouble than _anyone_. Remember that guy she took out when we first got to Mantle?”

“The time she sacrificed herself to save me from Flynt.”

“Not to mention,” Blake begins (apparently over her first meeting jitters, much to Weiss’s dismay), “jumping in front of Velvet even when her summoning wasn’t fully developed and her aura was depleted.”

“Yes, yes. Alright, thank you _all_ for your _tremendous_ support.” She figures rolling her eyes again will have little effect, and thus manages to avoid it. But only just.

Yang winks, slinging her arm around the back of Blake’s chair. “Always here to help out, princess.”

It’s around then that Tai starts laughing (audibly, at least), and the four of them turn almost as one, expressions varying degrees of amused and befuddled.

“Dad?” Ruby asks, and then, out of the side of her mouth to Weiss. “This isn’t one of the signs of delayed heat stroke, is it?”

“No! Of course not. It’s just — ” He pauses, smile slipping a little. “You all remind me so much of my old team. Summer’s team. We even used to call Raven ‘princess’, though I gotta say, you take it better than she ever did, Weiss.”

“Speaking of Raven…” Yang begins, eyes flickering towards Blake. “She’s here, isn’t she? In Vacuo.”

Tai’s smile falls off completely at that, and he runs a hand through his hair in the same way Yang sometimes does when she’s nervous or avoidant or both.

“What, not even going to wait until I’m settled in before getting into the serious stuff?” He grabs Ruby’s mostly untouched ale from across the table, but she only shrugs, apparently unconcerned. “Come _on_.”

“Well,” Ruby begins, almost apologetic. “Isn’t that kind of why you’re here?”

“I’m here because I haven’t seen my daughters in _years_! And because I hadn’t met the rest of their team!”

“And…” Yang prompts.

“And… yes, _fine_ , to share some news.” He lowers his voice. “News that no one felt comfortable sharing via letter or scroll, so I’m not sure why you think a crowded bar would be any better.”

“Sometimes places like this are the best option for these sorts of discussions,” Blake offers, and continues when Yang gently squeezes her shoulder. “With all the background noise, it’s hard to be overheard. Elsewhere in the desert… sound carries.”

“Ah, fair enough, but — ” Tai’s eyes brighten and he sits up straight. “Food first!”

Yang glances back over her shoulder, where a disgruntled employee (or perhaps a coerced patron) is balancing four trays in a surprisingly graceful manner — a manner which he loses completely when he drops the trays on their table without any presentation or organization, and stomps back to the bar without a word.

“Look at that, Weiss,” she laughs. “I’ve behaved myself _and_ we’re getting our food. How’s it feel to be zero for two?”

“I’m still holding out for ‘behaving yourself’, actually.”

Weiss can’t be sure what all the food placed before them actually _is_ , but she grabs the most edible looking of the dishes from the pile (and even then, _edible_ is a bit of a stretch for the mash of various versions of starch on the plate). It’s something of a free-for-all immediately after; Yang grabs the flatbread for Blake while fending off her father’s attempts to appropriate her mole crab sandwich. Ruby isn’t quite so lucky, and a good portion of her stew is drained by Taiyang (and a pout put on her face) before it makes her way to her. Blake rips off a bit of her flatbread and spreads a generous amount of sauce across it before reaching around Yang and handing it to Tai, and it’s clear she gains the approval of her girlfriend’s father in that exact moment. She also gets a particularly lovesick expression from said girlfriend, which Ruby takes advantage of, lunging across the table to rip off a chunk of Yang’s sandwich while she’s distracted. Retaliation is swift, and results in Ruby losing another bit of her stew, this time to the fabric of her pants.

It’s frenzied chaos, and everyone has nearly finished their meals by the time Weiss has managed to pull out her travel utensils and napkin, which is why she’s still mid-way through eating her supposed ‘vegetables’ when Yang finishes her beer and — with a nod from Ruby — turns her gaze once more towards Tai, with renewed determination.

“So.” Yang sets down the spoon she’d stolen from Ruby, brushes her hand along Blake’s arm before leaning forward. “Are you going to tell us about what’s going on in Atlas?”

Tai’s eyes flick towards _Weiss_ before jerking up towards the cracked, low ceiling, and Weiss’s stomach pitches in fear at implications. “You know, Yang, you used to be a lot more understanding of people taking a breather. Don’t you want _everyone_ to finish dinner first?”

“That was before I got tired of people I _trusted_ jerking me around,” Yang returns, a bit of heat creeping into her voice, though she recognizes it even before Blake’s hand covers her own, and it’s gone when she continues. “We _all_ got a little tired of that in Atlas.”

“Mr. Xiao Long.” Weiss cuts in, but then shakes her head, corrects herself. “Tai. Please. It’s been a long time since I heard from Winter and I — _we_ are starting to feel rather isolated out here.”

With a sigh, Tai nods, and rubs his stubbled chin. “I can understand that. And it’s not _that_. Really. I just wanted to — Well, the good moments are harder to come by these days, aren’t they? I didn’t want to darken the mood from the start.”

They all tense.

“What happened?” If Ruby’s voice shakes a little, no one mentions it.

“Penny’s fine. Ghira and Kali are fine. Winter is fine. So is Team ORNJ.” It’s quick reassurance, but it works on everyone; a collective breath released. “Blake, your parents left the White Fang in good shape, though they still maintain that you did all the hard work. Marrow has been working to build up some semblance of trust between the Faunus and Atlas and Robyn is… not exactly _chummy_ with the Atlas folk. But she’s fair. Things are good. Everyone’s built on the foundations you four laid down.”

“That’s all… good news,” Blake begins hesitantly.

“So what’s the bad news?” Yang finishes.

Tai sighs again. “Weiss, your sister is still… recovering. She’s doing well, but her injuries were — ” Weiss swallows and jerks her gaze down to the tabletop (chipped wood and grease stains). A warm hand fits against her back. Ruby’s. “Well. You remember.”

Weiss remembers.

(The blinding lights of blending auras and electricity. Winter’s screams of pain. The panicked shouts from the Atlesian scientists: words like power surge and compromised and unstable voltage. Strong arms holding her back. A blur of green and white. And silence as a loud hum overtook them.)

“She’s really doing well,” Tai continues gently. “Not quite up for travel this far out yet, which is why she wanted me to… share some news with you.”

Weiss looks up.

Tai’s eyebrows are lifted in sympathy, pinched at the center of his tanned forehead. But there’s a set to his mouth — an uncertainty there — that shows he’s not sure how to proceed. Or even how to feel.

She knows what’s happened almost immediately.

And — strangely — she’s left with a similar problem.

She doesn’t know how to feel at all.

“My father. He’s dead.”

Her voice sounds calm and cold to her own ears, but Blake must recognize something in it, because she’s standing and moving around the table towards Weiss before Tai nods in affirmation, one that Weiss doesn’t need.

“Yeah. James was working on a deal with him — I think you all knew about that — giving your father an easier prison sentence in exchange for information on… Salem.” The name still comes out slightly hushed, despite there being no need for that particular secret any longer.

“What happened?” Yang’s voice is as calm as Weiss’s, but there’s nothing cold about it; anger’s boiling underneath, and it’s surely not on Jacques’ behalf. There’s something just as comforting in that as there is in Ruby’s soft hand on her back and Blake’s fingers curling around her own.

“Weiss’s father was going to talk,” Blake murmurs, barely guessing. “So Salem had him killed.”

“Yeah,” Tai confirms. “Another prisoner did it. The man won’t say why, but James thinks one of Salem’s people had his son. It’s… a mess. I’m sorry, Weiss. Your sister wanted to be here. She wanted to be the one to tell you. But a letter seemed… not right.”

“Of course.” Weiss nods once. “She can’t be expected to travel with her aura still not at full strength. And the rest of my family is —” For the first time Weiss feels her voice catch. She swallows it down. “What is to become of the Schnee Dust Company? Whitley is the rightful heir now, but he is still underage. I suppose one of the Board will step in until then. But some of them could likely be connected to my father’s wrongdoings. General Ironwood could seize production, I suppose, but he’s been cautioned on his tendency for the tyrannical. A lesson I suppose he’s learned now.”

“Weiss,” Ruby says gently, and it’s only then Weiss realizes she’s gripping Blake’s hand hard enough to leave marks. She forces herself to relax.

“Whitley is still underage, but until then — as far as I understand your sister’s explanation — your mother is technically in charge.”

“My _mother_?” Weiss exclaims, them collects herself once more. “She isn’t — she has not been well in some time.”

“I saw her and your brother when I met with Winter. They all seemed… cordial. I’m sorry, Weiss. I don’t have all the details, so that’s all I know. Maybe you can set up a call with your sister. I know you’ve managed it for things that weren’t… sensitive information.”

“Of course.” She nods again. It’s a logical answer. She shouldn’t have expected specifics from Taiyang. Really, it was ungrateful that she would press him as much as she had. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn't mean to pester. Especially not after you’ve just come all this way Thank you for telling me everything you knew.”

“Ah, Weiss….”

“Maybe we should all stay here tonight,” Yang cuts in, smoothing her hands out on the table, as though she could manage the same with the odd tension floating in the air just as easily. “Why don’t you go see if you can get a few rooms, Dad?”

“I —” Tai blinks at Weiss for a second longer before bringing his attention to Yang, whose expression is full of too much for Weiss to process, but feels comforting in the same way her anger had been. Yang is taking care of something Weiss has neglected. Forgotten about. That’s the feeling she gets, though she’s not sure where it comes from. “Sure. Right. I’ll be… right back.”

Taiyang looks back often when he walks away, even once he’s at the bar, speaking to the man behind it.

“Weiss?” Ruby asks softly. “Maybe we should go outside? Or upstairs?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly fine.”

And she is. She feels fine.

(She doesn’t feel anything.)

“What do you want to do, Weiss?”

There’s something in Blake’s voice. There’s something in her eyes too, when Weiss glances over. It’s different from what she’d seen in Yang, different from Ruby too. It’s focused and clear and for a second, Weiss feels an awful lot of things, none of which make sense, none of which she thinks she can examine without screaming loud enough to shatter the whole of the building in two.

“I —” She looks away. Takes in a breath. “I would like to finish my dinner.”

She doesn’t get any response, not right away. But instead of looking up for any sort of confirmation, she picks her fork back up. She’d dropped it at some point. She’s not sure when.

“Okay,” Blake says finally. “Let’s finish dinner.”

Weiss eats slowly.

 _Decorum is what sets us apart from animals_ , her father had once said — one family dinner in a million, one of the last her mother had attended — just after her mother had knocked over her glass of red wine. _Don’t flounder. Remember yourself and what you’re meant to represent._

Weiss finishes her dinner.

One bite at a time.

—

They get rooms.

Weiss is even given her own, a rare privilege.

She doesn’t anticipate getting much sleep, but dutifully performs her nightly rituals: slips into her loose, linen pajamas; combs out her hair with slow, methodical strokes; and brushes her teeth, counting out the two minutes in her head, one after the other.

She reaches one minute and forty-seven seconds before she hears the first thud at her door, and gets to one minute and fifty-eight seconds before the second. She makes it to the door before there’s a third, but instead of an impatient Ruby or Yang, she finds both — looking not particularly impatient, but not especially calm, either, given the headlock Yang’s managed to trap Ruby in — along with a softly sighing Blake, eyes already rolling upwards to the ceiling.

“Just so you know,” Ruby begins, words a jumbled rush of sound, “I was here _first_. I called visiting you _first_.”

“You were here first because you can _teleport_ , or whatever we’re calling it now,” Yang huffs. “Don’t even _begin_ to believe this garbage, Weiss. We left our rooms at the _same time_ to come visit you and then she rose-petal-ed over and made it seem like we were worse friends than her.”

“And then Yang _tackled_ me.” She struggles in her sister’s grip for another few seconds, but makes little headway, despite the accompanying loud grunts and whines that signify a fair bit of effort. “Right into the door!”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to get you to stop!”

“Yes, but what will get _both_ of you to stop?” Blake murmurs, throwing an apologetic look at Weiss who, despite herself, feels her lips twitch in amusement. “Care to remember why we’re here? In front of this particular door that you slammed Ruby into?”

Yang releases Ruby without letting another second pass, and offers first Blake, and then Weiss, a sheepish smile.

“We’re here to make you feel better. If we can.” The corners of her lips twist into a more genuine (and familiar) grin, though her eyes remain soft as she holds Weiss’s stare. “And we did. At least a little! Look at that smile.”

“Idiots,” Weiss grumbles, but can’t deny the way her heart lifts. “I’m… _fine_.”

Not her most convincing line, but it’s hard to say more in the face of Ruby’s wide eyes and the kind tilt to Yang’s lips and the knowing pinch of Blake’s brow. And really, it’s impressive she gets even _that_ out, because here are the three people she loves more than anyone else in the world, so clearly willing to give her anything she needs, even when she isn’t entirely sure what that might be.

“Are you?” Blake asks softly, sliding a hand under Weiss’s elbow and tugging down — slipping Weiss out of the defensive posture she hadn’t realized she’d adopted — and grasping one of her newly freed hands in her own.

“Because it’s okay if you’re not,” Ruby adds, taking the other. “You can be sad. It doesn’t matter that he did… everything he did. He was still your dad.”

“I’m — ” _Angry,_ she thinks. _Or maybe sad. Maybe confused or upset or happy or guilty or relieved._ “I don’t know what I am.”

Yang nods slowly, stepping in close enough to knock her forehead gently against Weiss’s “That’s okay too. You’ll figure it out.”

“And we’ll help,” Blake murmurs. Ruby squeezes her hand, skin soft despite the arid environment. “However we can.”

“Always,” Yang finishes. “We’ve got you, Weiss.”

It’s too much — it’s all far too much — because when Yang moves next, it’s to wipe away the tears that have started falling without Weiss’s knowledge or consent. But relief comes with release. It comes with the tightening of hands and the gentle curling support all around her.

(And something new. Something light. Like she’s leaving something behind.)

So. Perhaps it’s not too much at all.

Maybe it’s exactly the right amount.

—

(Weiss does sleep that night, but only with help. Blake’s thumb moves in soft circles along the back of her hand, Yang’s fingers stroke gently through her hair, and Ruby tucks in against her side, arm slung comfortably around her waist.

She drifts off thinking about the desert sun and how a steady warmth can thaw just about anything.)  
  


—

 _I ain't scared, no not afraid  
Of the world in front of me.  
I found my way without your help  
With a broken family.  
I'll take my breaks with my sins,  
I'll do as I do please  
With my friends 'til the end,  
There lies my loyalty.  
  
_ —

 _ **\- 4 -**_  
( _Land of Darkness, 25_ )

—

They’ve fallen into the habit of sleeping during the day; a purely practical choice, as the worst attacks always seem to come at night. The quality of that sleep, however, is another matter entirely, at least for Weiss. Maybe — even after all this time — she’s simply spoiled; Schnee Manor had been dark, cold, and mostly silent, which had its downsides in many ways, but combined with her mattress (always top of the line) at least she always slept well. Here, she sweats on top of her sleeping bag, falls into an uneasy sleep, and jumps awake — her sword in her hand — at the slightest change in sound.

The other three don’t seem to have the same problem, catching sleep whenever they can, in whatever position they collapse into. More often than not, that’s with all of them in the same tent (though Blake and Yang have their own), if not the same pile of blankets and sleeping bags. Weiss can’t say she minds, even if it cramps the space; these days, her heart rate picks up in an unnatural way when any one of her team is out of sight. Sometimes, it picks up when they’re out of range for her to touch. That’s probably a clear sign of some kind of dependency, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

She’s not sure what’s woken her this time — perhaps the sound of the airship landing, a bit too close to their tent for comfort — but the result is always the same: Weiss staring up at the patched, orange ceiling of their tent, trying not to see fantisful shapes in the unnatural shadows of this place, willing her aura to recharge faster, hoping she can fall back asleep. When she inevitably fails in these endeavors, her next step never deviates either; sit up, get water, and watch her team slumber on.

Yang’s still in one of the too-small, horribly uncomfortable fold-out chairs, her head hanging back in a way that makes her neck look almost broken (and makes Weiss wince to see). She’s taken off her boots, at least — kicked off haphazardly just beside her — and her legs are stretched out onto the table; her socks — a gift from Ruby, picked up somewhere in the Vacuo desert — say ‘sun’s out, puns out’ in a garish yellow.

The sight makes something in Weiss ache.

Because sometimes, out on the battlefield, when Yang utilizes the full force of her powers — when her eyes blaze and the world around her reacts without use of Dust or physical force — sometimes, just for a _second_ , Weiss forgets, and sees what the rest of the world sees when they look at Yang Xiao Long now. She likes these moments better, Yang with her mouth hanging open and drooling just a little, her arms wrapped around the woman curled in her lap, unconsciously making soft, reassuring noises every time Blake shifts in her sleep (which is often). Despite Blake’s restlessness, she always seems to sleep soundly in Yang’s arms. The two of them separate more on the battlefield now than Weiss knows they would prefer — Yang’s maiden powers involve giving her a decent amount of space to work with — but the same can’t be said when they’re out of combat. She and Ruby had teased them at the start, but only gently; it’s hard to begrudge anyone any comfort in these times, let alone when it’s two of the people Weiss considers family. (Better than family.)

The tent flap opening is enough to make everyone stir — Ruby mumbles something about pancakes and turns over, tugging her cloak more tightly around her eyes; Blake and Yang curl further into each other, long strands of black and yellow intertwining — but Weiss is on her feet before any of them finish resettling, her sword in her hand.

Her posture holds a second at most.

Weiss doesn’t drop Myrtenaster. But it’s a near thing. Instead, she places it gently on the table in the middle of her her quick walk — and then run — towards the woman who’s just entered the tent with a tentativeness that’s nearly unrecognizable.

“Winter!”

She should be more careful — perhaps — in her greeting, but despite the force of the hug, Winter hardly sways, and wraps her arms around Weiss with a fierceness that’s without any of the hesitation Weiss remembers, even towards the end of their time together in Atlas (even during their last farewell: Winter still in a hospital bed, her grip limp, but gaze understanding).

“I’ve missed you so much.” She presses her face into Winter’s coat — a soft blue that she can’t remember ever seeing on her sister — and holds tight.

“You’ve… cut your hair,” is the first hung her sister says to her, after nearly five years of letters and scroll calls and nothing at all face-to-face, and Weiss laughs, more out of relief or disbelief or a surprising sort of _happiness_ than anything else.

“There was an… incident with a Grimm pool.” She doesn’t run her fingers through her newly (and severely) shorted locks when she pulls away, but only because Winter reaches them first, her touch tender enough to make Weiss’s heart seize. “I would recommend avoiding them.”

“I quite like it.” She lets her hand drop, but keeps her gaze solely on Weiss, only glancing away once to scan the tent with a trained eye. “You’ve made the best of a bad situation. Turned a flaw into a strength, as always.”

Weiss could easily say the same of her sister, but she’s not sure if it would be entirely kind. Winter no longer wears the white, red, and blue colors — nor the severe cut of clothing — of the Atlesian military; her hair is in a soft ponytail rather than a restrictive bun; and the lift of her eyebrows — openly gentle — suits her face as much as the soft smile in place. The scars remain from the failed aura transfer, exposed by her low collar: sharp lines zigzagging up her neck towards her jaw line, and Weiss knows very well how much of Winter’s body is now covered by the lightning-like burns (remembers the smell of charred flesh as she’d pulled her away from Ironwood’s hijacked experiment, the angry lines along the whole of her right side).

“I think… that’s what we’ve all done,” she settles on, keeping her tone as light as she can manage. “Are you — I didn’t think Atlas was going to be able to spare you or Penny for another few months. How long are you here?”

“Until it’s over,” Winter says simply, and Weiss lets out a breath at the finality of it. “It was an endless back and forth about where the maidens were needed most, but leaving Yang to do all the heavy lifting until we could break through to Salem seemed… selfish. Penny is hardly under the authority of anyone now, but Robyn and James agreed to her plan in the end, and she was given priority transport. And I — well, I go where Penny does, these days, as you well know.”

“Good. Ruby will be pleased to see Penny. And Yang will be pleased to have another Maiden helping out. And Blake will be pleased to see Yang have a bit less strain on her.”

Winter hums. Nods. “And you?”

“I’m just happy to see you.” Unable to help herself, she darts in for another quick hug, which Winter not only allows, but returns. “Can you sit? Let me put on some tea. And put together…. something that resembles a meal with our rations.”

“Speaking of attempting to make good from bad,” Winter deadpans; it takes Weiss until Winter has settled across the table from a motionless Blake and Yang to realize it’s a joke.

“Blake is better at it than I am,” Weiss laughs belatedly, heading towards their makeshift cabinets and pulling out a badly beaten kettle. “She can manage the heat of a campfire with surprising skill, given how hopeless she is in a proper kitchen.” And then, after a pause. “Though I can hardly claim expertise in that particular area, myself.”

“I’m sure it will be more than acceptable,” Winter reassures, which is new too, something she’s started doing during their scroll calls, here and there. But then she pauses, long enough that Weiss looks away from the finicky portable stove, only to find her staring at Blake and Yang with a curious expression on her face. _Longing_ , is Weiss’s first thought, but then she realizes that’s not it at all.

“Winter?” Her query is hesitant, one she can’t find the words to fully form..

“How are things here, Weiss?”

An odd question, all things considered. “You’ve read the reports. And I’ve given you biweekly updates, just to make sure the reports are accurate.”

“Yes. But how are things _here_?” She gestures around the tent: at Yang, who lets out a soft snore; at Blake, whose ears twitch briefly; at Ruby, who lies on her stomach, as still as Weiss has ever seen her.

“I’m… not sure what you’re asking, Winter.” The stove finally flares to life; she balances the kettle carefully atop.

Winter nods, drums her fingers on the table once, and nods again. This is something of a familiar sight — a series of gestures that Winter typically employed while attempting to restructure a thought, dating back to childhood — and Weiss finds herself smiling, witnessing it again.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you left for Beacon? The advice I gave you?”

“Yes,” Weiss begins hesitantly, smile slipping away. “You told me to… focus on my studies.”

“I told you not to make friends.” She shakes her head, a rueful curl to her lips. “I’m very glad you didn’t listen to me.”

“Winter — ”

“While you were in Atlas, it became clear to me that the people on your team were your family. A… better family. The one that you’d always wanted.” Weiss opens her mouth to protest once more, but Winter holds up a hand — requesting silence — and Weiss agrees to it, pressing her lips together. “Thus, their well-being has become important to me, beyond the value of three highly valuable assets. I want to make sure they are… doing well. Because if they are the family you have chosen, then that makes them — well. It makes them mine as well. In a way. I find I am protective of them. As an extension of you.

“I know I was never… warm. I know I was hard on you.” Winter clears her throat, discomfort clear, but she presses on, regardless. “I thought I was helping you. Preparing you for the world. I thought emotions were a weakness. To have, let alone display. But I have seen enough evidence to the contrary that I have had to reevaluate my assessment over the past several years. And thus, I feel it’s only right that I.. inform you that I care for you very much.” She shakes her head. “Not just that. That is too cavelier. You are my _sister_ and I care for you more than anyone else. I… love you.”

Words released, Winter lets out a long, weary breath, as though she’s finally set down an object that she’d begun to find impossibly heavy, but only after carrying it for a great length of time.

Weiss had never, not once, wondered if her sister loved her, but she finds hearing the words — hearing Winter _struggle_ through them — does a curious thing, regardless; it makes Weiss love her more. An impossible bit more (heart stretching to accommodate). Proving she’s as much as a Schnee as Winter, she doesn’t quite know how to express the feeling verbally, but — proving she’s grown up over the past eight years with people who have taught her a million other ways to say it — she crosses the short distance between them and sits, picks up one of Winter’s hand in her own, and gives it a soft squeeze.

“I know,” she promises. “And I love you too.”

“Oh.” Winter releases another heavy breathe. “Wonderful. I’m glad. I wanted to address this before anything else. It was — I’m not entirely sure why that was so difficult, especially after diligent preparation.”

Across the table, Yang snorts in her sleep, then lets out another grunt when Blake turns in place, elbow catching her in the gut. Weiss doesn’t glance over. Instead, she tries very hard not to smile.

“Diligent preparation?”

Winter’s chin lifts. “I wanted to adequately cover the things I had failed to fully articulate in the past.” A pause. “Penny assisted me.”

Weiss has never been more grateful for the piercing whistle of the kettle, because as soon as she turns to fetch it, a clear smile splits across her face, and she’s entirely sure Winter would not appreciate the humor in the situation at this particular point in time (or ever). By the time she’s turned off the stove, collected five cups, and spread out some tasteless crackers and cheese on a plate, the amusement is hidden once more, though a softer smile remains in place.

“Not too many options in flavor, I’m afraid,” she apologizes, before pouring tea into two of the cups. “But at least it’s hot.”

Winter doesn’t complain, of course. Only returns Weiss’s smile.

“And the _rest_ of you might as well stop pretending to be asleep.” Weiss sighs. “As though I haven’t spent enough time with you three to know when you’re faking it.”

Yang cracks one eye open without any hesitation. There’s not a trace of guilt in her expression either. “That’s what she said?”

“I don’t think that’s how you’re meant to use that, baby.” Blake, at least, has the good grace to shoot Weiss an apologetic look. “And I don’t think you’re meant to use it at _all_ right after being called out.”

“Eh.” Yang waves her away and reaches for the kettle and strainer, then pours out the remaining three cups. “Agree to disagree.”

“For the record,” Ruby begins, no trace of sleep in her face as she plops down at the table, “we just didn’t want to _interrupt_. It felt rude!”

“We’re very polite people,” Blake adds, time impressively dry as she watches Ruby shove three crackers into her mouth at once. “Well trained in the way of table etiquette.”

“Yeah!” Ruby agrees, before fully swallowing. And then, “Wait. Was that _sarcasm_?”

“Blake? Being sarcastic?” Yang shakes her head. “Her? No way.”

Ruby slams a fist into the tabletop. Some of the tea sloshes out of her cup. “It _was_ sarcasm! I can be polite! I can have table manners! Where are the napkins? I’ll fold them into little swans. Just watch.”

Winter — who Weiss clearly remembers insisting on being _graded_ on her table etiquette when she was not more than twelve — glances around the table, and _laughs_. She laughs hard enough that the rest of the table joins in.

“Well, alright then.” Yang lifts her cup and raises it high, sends Weiss a wink. “Welcome to the family, Winter Schnee.”

It occurs to Weiss then, that if Grimm could be repelled by the opposite of the emotions that attracted them, she could end the war right then and there.

—

_And don't you know, happiness is not a place?  
It's the road you take  
And who you choose to walk it with _

_—_

_**\- 5 -  
** (Beacon, 29)_

_—_

By age twenty-nine, Weiss Schnee has mastered the art of summoning and the use of Dust, faced and defeated demons (figurative and literal), seen death (her own, almost, and other’s, many times), fought in battles before she understood they were part of a war, won a war before she understood it was really only a battle, and stared into the eyes of an immortal being and told her to go fuck herself.

It’d been a good run.

But now, she’s clutching her wine glass a little too tight and staring down at the papers to the right of her plate, completely unseeing, and it occurs to Weiss that she’s more scared now than she’d been on any of those previous instances. As though more is riding on her shoulders now than ever before. It’s a ridiculous feeling — absolutely illogical — but logic had never held much sway over love.

That’s a lesson she’s learned time and time again.

“Weiss?” It’s Ruby, of course, watching her closely with a smile that says she thinks she knows _exactly_ what’s racing through Weiss’s mind. In this instance, Weiss would hardly bet against her. (In _most_ instances, Weiss would not bet against Ruby Rose.)

“I’m fine,” she assures, but Ruby’s red smile just tilts further off-center, disbelief clear (in the softest possible way).

“My speech is mostly making fun of them for taking so long to get together.” Ruby never quite mastered the art of winking — even when she’d had both eyes to theoretically manage it — and that’s carried over to her prosthetic, shutter closing briefly in concert with her remaining natural eye, when she tries. Enough time has passed — enough puns delivered by Yang and Ruby both — that the action makes Weiss smile rather than remember. “I still have our old betting sheet. I saved it on my scroll for this _exact_ day.”

“You knew then?”

Ruby is twenty-seven now — fully grown and objectively beautiful — and she wears her satin, red dress well, no trace of insecurity present despite the deep v-cut and long slit that made Penny (wearing a comparatively modest emerald green floor-length wrap dress) blue-screen for a brief moment. But when she smiles like she does now (wide and unashamed and without a trace of the things that Weiss knows haunts them all), she looks exactly as she did at fifteen: the very symbol of purity Blake had always cited her as.

“Didn’t you?”

Across the table, Blake and Yang are talking quietly, ignoring their food and everyone around them. There’s no black or white or brown present, only shades of gold and purple, Yang mostly in the former, Blake mostly in the latter, but intermingling too. The colors on their dresses is so near the shade of each other’s auras (and eyes and souls) that Weiss almost wonders if they’d had to stage a duel in front of their dressmaker, just so she could get it just right. (It’s not as implausible as one might think; Coco Adel is known for doing all sorts of bizarre things in the name of fashion.) They look ethereal, beautiful, and absolutely ignorant of the rest of the world. The universe — for each of them — consists of two points of light, much in the same way it had when they’d said their vows not an hour ago, when they’d held each other at the end of the world, when they’d first said _I love you_ to each other in front of a full audience of huntresses and Grimm, when Weiss had realized — watching them interact at age seventeen, one random night in their dorms, the two of them with their heads together — that this day would most assuredly come.

“Of course.”

“Okay. So _that_ means you’ve had _plenty_ of time to prepare for this. Aren’t you always saying that’s your _thing_?” Ruby continues, nudging Weiss’s elbow with own at each emphasis. “Or are you finally going to admit you’re just as impulsive as the rest of us when it comes to — well, the rest of us?”

Weiss had written her speech over two years ago, long before the proposal (long after she’d known it would come). She’d looked up examples, gotten tips from the experts, asked people for advice, and sent it in to an SDC executive to have it proof-read. After all that, there was no doubt that it was — in the technical sense of the word— absolutely perfect. She’d prepared for this as much as she’s prepared for everything else in her life: the dinner parties and recitals and homework and team attacks and dances and battles and strategies. And just as she always does now, she considers perfection — the notion of it: white walls and folded napkins, eleven utensils and eight courses, stilted silence and polite words, proper foot placement and rigid shoulders, the fact that one life should always mean less than many — and discards it. It’s always temporary, the choice always returns — its roots deep — but she hopes one day she’ll pull them out fully.

(She thinks she might, give or take another twelve years.)

“I will never admit that,” Weiss sniffs, even as she slides her prepared speech off the table, into her clutch. “ _Someone_ has to plan things on this team.”

“Even if we always go off course?” Ruby asks, smile now knowing.

“Especially then.”

With a laugh, Ruby leans in and kisses her cheek, then reaches for her glass and knife with another failed wink. “Love you, Weiss.”

Weiss’s resulting eye roll doesn’t hold anything other than pure affection. “Love you too.”

The clinking sound of metal on glass isn’t especially loud, but Nora — just a few seats down — notices, and her yell for the rest of the guests’ attention silences everyone just as effectively as an air horn. It also (most likely) causes Jaune and Ren (on either side of her) to lose another small chunk of their hearing. The commotion is enough that even Blake and Yang tear their gaze from one another, Yang searching out Ruby first, then Weiss, and Blake doing the opposite.

“Are you sure you want _me_ to start?” Weiss asks.

In response, Blake only laughs softly, shakes her head in disbelief, gentle curls swaying, bangs falling into her eyes. Blake laughs and her eyes show everything — not a hint of shadow — and Weiss almost cries at how happy she looks.

Blake had once told her — late at night, the two of them on an unnecessary watch in the middle of a camp of huntsmen and huntresses — that she had once thought she was ruined for love, that the part of herself that could manage it properly had been torn apart by red horns.

When Weiss almost cries now (when she _had_ cried earlier, watching them exchange vows) it’s not just from happiness or any form of joy. It’s relief, that Blake had been so very wrong, in so many ways.

(That Weiss had been wrong too, when she’d thought nearly the same thing about herself.)

“Weiss,” Blake finally says. “Who else?”

“I’ve actually thought of several other options, if you would care to reconsider. Ruby, of course, but also Tai or Ghira or Kali or, honestly — though I can hardly believe I’m saying it — Jaune. His speech at Nora and Ren’s wedding was nothing short of spectacular. Really, any number of people might — ”

“Weiss.” It’s Yang now, and she’s laughing as well, eyes bright as she reaches over the table at the same time as her wife, covering Weiss’s hand with both of theirs, Ruby joining in and nearly spilling wine on her pretty dress in the process. “Seriously. Who else?”

Weiss nods. Stands.

She looks out over the crowd of people and finds Winter with her fingers interlaced with Robyn’s, Ghira with red eyes and Kali with a half smile and a package of tissues at the ready, Taiyang with a grin and two thumbs up, Nora with finger guns, Ren with an encouraging nod, and Maria Calavera — impossibly alive and impossibly grumpy — already halfway through her plate of specially prepared steak.

 _Who else_ , they’d asked, and Weiss thinks she understands.

In her speech, she talks of love, of possibilities, of sacrifice, but most of all, she talks about the roads that lead you home to the ones that matter more than anything.

Who knows better than her, after all, what it means to choose a family?

—

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The song lyrics used at the start of each section are from (in order) _The Truth is a Cave_ by The Oh Hellos, _High Beam_ by Sjowgren, _Heavy_ by Birdtalker, _Growing Up_ by Run River Run, and _Happiness Is Not a Place_ by The Wind and The Waves.
> 
> 2\. I know RWY probably met Ghira and Kali at the end of Vol 5…. But I refuse to accept that because for that to happen off-screen would be CRUEL. 
> 
> 3\. “Snowette” as an adjective to describe Weiss comes from an incredible anonymous ask that was sent to _lightsaroundyourvanity_. Thank you, brave anon. You gave us so much that day. 
> 
> 4\. If one single person mentions Winter probably dying I *will* lose it. I _know_ this whole thing is all too happy to be in the show, but I DON’T CARE. And NEITHER does P5. Peace and Happiness ONLY for Winter and Weiss Schnee 2020.


End file.
